


Consider This My Garbage

by RainbowPreCum



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 19:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowPreCum/pseuds/RainbowPreCum
Summary: Emotionally charged and brimming with anger. Unable to form cohesive sentences yet buzzing with the want to be heard





	1. Voices

Voice of reason, voice of reason. Bloody fingerprints on my face as I crack my skull open. Give me access to my brain so I may run my sticky fingers along the slippery ridges. The mush folds bend under your touch and spring back into place. The more I explore my open head the harder it is to see. My eyesight is full of grey sparkles and stars. It started as a simple poke a snag of my thumbnail on the fleshy mush inside my head. My fingers snuck into my brain slowly at first until half of each finger was buried inside of it. Blood ran from my nose in a neat twisting river. The body shook and twitched as the fingers dug deeper desperately searching for a way relieve an itch. What a sweet feeling with every stroke it sent a wave of primal pleasure. My left eye was rolling this way and that in my head while my right was slowly losing sight. Blood ran from my tearducts as I choked on pitiful moans as I savored a slow death.


	2. I Suck

I don't speak the right way because I second guess myself and lack confidence. In the eyes of the people around me I am dumb and deaf. I'm going no where and I have no plans. I am failing at everything while they are moving up in life. I hate it. I need to leave but have no where to go. I hate it all.


	3. Wonderful Muse

When people like me find happiness we try very hard to hold onto it. We want the experience to stay with us forever and to feel free. People I've worked with and lived with look at me as if my life is heading nowhere. Maybe that is true but I'm working at my own pace. I read some where that once people escape their abusers and are free to pursue whatever it is they want, they feel the things they were never allowed to feel. I wasn't allowed to smile or cry. I was never allowed to be sad or laugh. I was continuously striped of my humanity and my emotions. Anything to belittle me and anything to hurt me. I was told that this was love. I was told that I was hated and unwanted and I was forced to hide myself and my dreams and to survive I had to play into their ways. 

Now that I am free I can cry. I can smile. I can laugh and be happy and I can scream as loud as I want at concerts. I can spend my money that I earned to do things that make me happy. I can feed my mind and reawaken my dreams and find what it means to live again. I can adjust my body and my style to fit these dreams. Sometimes I want to be the beauty queen. Other times I want to wear something loose. I can be quiet when I please and I can be loud to drive the crowd. Nobody's here to stop me now. 

Ten thousand years ago I never thought I'd be here. I never thought I'd be without my family. As I cry for them I cry because they're dead to me. They died a long time ago and I no longer have to worry over them. I may have lost my mother and father. I lost my siblings and best friends but I can shed my skin and find something beautiful in me. Something they saw and buried so deep they thought they destroyed it. 

 

Everyday I can feel it coming back. And I don't want it to go away again. I never got to live the life of a normal kid. I didn't talk back, I didn't have emotions, my teachers called my anti social. My parents said I only wanted attention. My boss thinks I don't have any problems. People don't want to level with me at all. Instead I refuse to be their stepping stool. I remain indifferent to these people and try to keep my head clear however I can't keep the voices out of my head. I can't undo the mental trauma my life has given me but I can clear my mind from time to time like I have done today. 

 

My muse is wonderful. I appreciate having them around. I get to be free around them.


	4. Dear Friend

I miss my friends from school. A time before understanding came to stay by my side and forced my eyes open to see what was before me and what may come after me. I think about them a lot. I think about their smiles and their downcast eyes when they thought no one was looking. I wonder about what they must have opened their eyes to or if they kept it open like I had decided to do. I think about how happy they were and how unprepared we were for what was coming. I wonder about the sadness that follows them to bed at night. 

 

I miss my friends from school. They use to bully me. I won't ever forget the things they said and how it stuck to me forever as I grew up and left the school system. It's so strange to imagine strangers looking at your body and passing judgement with the same venom as they did. But then I remember my friends eyes and how they'd smile when we talked. I can bare it for just a little longer but I'm not sure I could ever escape it. The mirror is my worst enemy these days. 

 

I miss my friends from school. I wonder if they miss me? Maybe I'm just a memory. Sometimes I pass by them and they hardly recognise me and it takes me just a moment to remember who they were. We never speak. I wish we could speak. I never had any friends after them. I needed other people to build the bridge of friendship but they never lasted long. I was too weird. I wasn't shaped right. I was a freak. I would still like to go back and live in that again. That uncomfortable body of mine surrounded by people who may not have liked me. 

 

I miss my friends. I try not to look back because I'm sure no one else is. They've got things to stride for and a happiness to hold on to. I am everything bad to them. A pebble tossed into a cog that stirs up bad memories and feelings. I don't want to be anyones burden. I just want to make people happy. I want people to like me for me. I don't really like me. I can't really say I know who me is either. I dumbed myself down for them. 

 

I miss my friends a lot. I miss the feeling of feeling unique. I miss the feeling of a smile that burns from being pulled too tightly on my cheeks. They don't miss me though. I should give up.


	5. Move Like Water

I'm too tired to move. I'm too tired to go outside. I'm too tired to live and I never learned to persist. I can't see the fallout from my peeling skin as a new chance to grow. Once a long time ago I was ahead of it all but I was bogged down by the weights of nothingness. I wanted to cry out but the foam of the undertow filled my lungs. 

 

And I became too tired. Even if I let out some air and tried to follow the bubbles to the surface the weights hold me down. I gave in and watched my optimism and creativity die inside my brain. I miss the flow of writing sentences about vast tunnels and deep caves. I miss the sounds the sirens made as the mermaids danced with the waves and decorated the bloodied rocks. 

The drunken sailors who found no happiness or purpose but smiled and laughed in the dirty bars of open ports. The secretive maidens and talkative mice with their own treasures. I miss it all and I can hear even while 500 feet below the churning waves of the angry red ocean of my lands. And like a forgotten God I slumber here alone in the darkness. Unbothered by the changing world yet sad to be removed from it. 

I wish to spring from the emptiness inside of me and awaken like an angry beast screaming fury and blind hate as I mesmerize and taint this awful place. The waves are angry as I continue to sleep. They drown the sailors and send the mermaids away from each other. The sirens are crying, reaching, begging for nature to please release them. Thunder cracks in the skies but are muted by the heavy rain that floods all of the land. It rains for 40 days and 40 nights drowning out all forms of life across the tiny yet unstable planet. 

 

And I rise from the ocean half dead and alone. The skies have cleared and the star that holds us in place is shining bright and uncaring to the mass grave before it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dance like rain.


	6. Get High With Me

Lady is twirling surrounded in colorful water colors. She twists and shakes with the sound of love and agony. Her hips thrusts with mix of two key points in soul and mind. Her penis erect and her breasts perked at the move of her head thrown back to scream sweet death from between red lips. Tears and squinted eyes adorned her features in the purest height of vulnerability. Love me please and set me free. 

My earthly body quakes in awe of the purest freedom and light. She dies at the end her body cleared of pleasure and once again a husk of peanut shells. Cracked and torn to pieces.


	7. RIP LMAO

I've been thinking about hanging myself. Or getting lost and starving to death in the forest. Nobody likes me. I will never be wanted or accepted. I tried to stay optimistic and friendly. I came out the other end badly damaged. Some days I'm not sure I can stay alive until my cat eventually passes away. I don't want to leave him wondering where I went or in the hands of someone incapable of taking care of him. 

The days are getting harder. My body is against me and I want to self harm again. I want to die every time I'm awake. Everything is a pain and I feel like no one likes who I am. No one has ever liked who I am. I am meant to be nothing and I will die for nothing. Every school year I was phased further and further away from the everyday people. Teachers turned their heads and students saw me as less than. 

I was reminded everyday that I will never do anything great. Why write? Why continue to thrive and create? Why not just slowly die off? No one looked for me ever. People I thought that once cared for me saw me as a burden and I continued on this downward slope. 

 

I never had a chance. I never had support. No one in this dark and senseless world ever saw me. No one ever looked for me. No one cared and I'm the one who has to suffer for it. In the end if it it'll be my fault. My parents will say they did their best and that I was always a terrible child. They'll never admit to the abuse and neglect I suffered from. My brothers will laugh and say they never saw it coming even after all the ruthless bullying and taunting. 

 

Everyone will sing of how they tried so hard to help. They'll wax poetic about all that they ever did and it was too bad she never saw the light. Depression isn't a tunnel. It's the center of the ocean and you're weighed down by cinder blocks and the light you're seeing is the sun and moon cycling over head. If you somehow find a way to the break the surface they'll be no ground to climb on to. 

 

You're drowning out here. And you'll keep drowning until you stop struggling. Depression isn't just being sad. Don't look at me with those judgmental eyes and tell me to just get over it. I want to so badly to rip them from your heads and It's driving me into a corner. Stop putting me into a corner. I don't want to be laughed at anymore. I don't want to be hit or raped again. I want to write and create and live again but there's no possible way to do that. There's no way out and I can feel the water filling up my mouth and I know I might not live to see next winter. I'll go home and live a sad life. I'll die a nobody. I won't be missed. 

 

RIP Me.


	8. Melt

I'm melting and it isn't pretty. I am not indestructible and I have nothing to prove. There's a painful lapse in judgement that brings me back to where I was before. I don't trust or love him. I am going to die here and no one will care. He won't care. He sees nothing wrong with how he is and I cannot stand it in the slight. Apartment after apartment and I know I cannot afford them. Sometimes it gets my hopes up and I feel like I have a chance. I know I might die in there but if my cat is with me I wont. People don't understand why I hold my cat to such a high regard. They don't know what it's like to think about killing yourself to ease the stress of living every day. It's a cluster of thoughts that brings a disconnect from oneself. 

 

But when I walk inside and his big happy eyes look up at me I feel like things are okay. I can get past these days. I can survive this. It only works for a little while and I am happy and I treasure that happiness because as soon as I look at him I feel the sadness come back. Like claws it reinserts itself and I am sad. I want to eat and stop working out. I also want to starve and watch myself fade away. I can't leave my sweet cat alone. I don't want him to forget me or to live a sad and anxious life stuck in depression. 

 

And so I live. And I carry this burden. And I will leave this place.


	9. Vibrant Nothing

The nothingness inside of me is different when compared to the nothingness inside of you. Your nothingness is fertile with possibilities. It's an invasive darkness that is both terse and epic teeming to be written. It's a nothingness that seduces the hidden parts of me into writing stories about you and your potential. Your nothingness digs deep into the ruins of my deserted mind and digs new creativity that may grow under the perfrct conditions. The weather inside me is brewing and sometimes monstrous. 

 

I'm a medical disaster kept inside of a body that is neither venerated or protected. To stop the storm I simply cut off what makes me feel. My fingertips no longer grip a pen with genuine ease and an excited hope to gather my thoughts into a fluid story. No longer is there passion running freely through the once luxurious fields. All there is for me here to see is ruin. Rubbish that often leaves me breathless with the thought of what I could not hold. And no one knows what deep sadness this brings to me. 

 

To have my creativity robbed, no, destroyed within me has left me ill with facing a bleak reality. It has left me with a worsening sickness that drags on continuously day by day and breeding more insidious reasons why I should not do what I need for. What it is I long for is a chance to bleed upon my papers where the truth and my shame can dance and come together to form an art. 

 

It would make me proud to write the visions in my head. I long to fill books with scribbles and notes from my dreams. If I can write this what will make the dreams come back? What will bring the water from the mountains back to my humble toppled house? What will cease the rain from flooding my soil and carrying it away? When will the tornado and drought leave my wretched being be? 

 

Tell me what will cure my sickness and bring light into my life?


	10. Obsidian Stone

There on the window sits a small obsidian statue. The stories told said it was carved and sanded by hand. The swirling of color within the stone was not natural and therefore could not be made by nature. If your mind lacks imagination it would make the story into a fact. This is not a fact I promise you that. No man has laid a carving knife to the shiny stone. Yet no fairy has imbued her sparkling magic into the statue. 

 

It was created and birthed by the earth itself. It holds no purpose and serves no cosmic duty but to us who live with the day to day toils of humanity it holds significance. We alone have the capacity to see and struggle with our collective ideas of purpose. We were born from circumstances far from our control and were given a higher plane of thought. Yet we destory ourselves in our unique intelligence. We fight a losing fight and it inspires thinkers and philosophers to question the necessity of man and his creations. 

 

Do we not take and put our own in classes designed to prove worth? But what is worth in two hundred years where none will hear your name? You would be a common man to them. We live in earnest trying to strive for an absolute truth and what holds more truth to you? Is it wealth? Fame? A pen? Maybe a statute born from the earth?


	11. Persist and Resist

Persistence is feeble without a solid foundation. I am feeble without will. Will needs to push my persistance. Without persistence I will crumble inside my skin. I will burn with anger that distorts my sanity and my calm. And I will stab myself. I will bring a slow end to myself by crippling both my mind and liver. Drinking away my sadness with things that don't need an ID. The medicine brings fresh air and tainted wheezing. The pain killers set me free from fatigue. I still cannot write. The pen drags along the page scratching silly words and silly idioms. My ideals are only attacked and left without hope. I hear the voices now my own telling me sad words with a cold deatched anger. I hate my face. I hate it because it has pieces of everyone who hates me. It has scars left from people who told me I was beautiful. Irritated skin where their hands touched me. And I need a new touch. A new feeling. A new burn to hide the old ones. 

 

I persist to hurt. I have the will to run in front of a bus. My brain doesn't let me. It holds my feet in one place. Look one way. Look the other. You have the right of way. And I forget about dying until I lay my head to on my pillow.


	12. Everyday

It's an effort to shower every night. I nap and I sleep and late at night I fight with myself to get up and wash away the dirt from work. The smell of bleach will go away. These bones will shake the cold and I will be warm. I don't want to get up. The blanket feels nice but itchy. That's because you haven't showered. You haven't completed your day. You have one more important thing to do before it all ends and you can sleep some more. If you sleep like this you'll hate yourself. You've been down this path before and it's a cycle you're doomed to face every now and again. You can't cure it. You have to try. Please just go shower. 

 

And when you have you can sleep comfortably. Tomorrow is another day to start over. Another day to reset and try to do right by what went wrong the day before. You can do it. One step at a time. You'll build yourself your own foundation. You'll win. Live a life full of small pleasures or reach for something greater. Their is a brilliance people have seen in you that's been muted and buried for such a long time. 

 

You want to see the sun. The bright and glaring star in the sky that fills you small pleasures. The sun rise over the buildings of New York are the greatest you've ever seen. A humbling experience that is yours to treasure. Yours all your own. You notice the changing colors often dotting along the sky in swept patterns before curling and sifting away into a clear blue. And the clouds come but you think that's okay too. The clouds bring rain or a comforting darkness. There are no fields here. But you stare at the sky and remember that your small. You are going to be okay with not being loved. You'll survive not being wanted. You'll give the gift of your writing. 

 

It's a brilliance that shines brightly for the world to see. And they're waiting for you. I'm waiting for what I have to say.


	13. Smile

There's something wonderous about being unafraid to smile. Imperfect accidents saddling up with normal children smile away and fade into the group. You have to look close enough to see the kid thats grafted themself onto groups. With the eyes feigning freedom and ignorance. Sometimes you'll find there is more than one of us there. Two or three at best trying to fit in with envious annoyance. The supporting character that carries a knife pressed hard against their own back as to keep in line with the others. 

 

Sometimes their sadness is sensed and exploited. Most are unable to steer a conversation having a lack of charisma and pull. That is what we strive for but cannot obtain. Eventually the play begins to fall apart. Everyone around you ia growing and your life seems fragmented and compared to theirs. You don't have stories to tell or any real friends to grow up with and reflect with. It's just you and it will always be you. From start to finish. 

 

And maybe you'll finally gain incentive to find out who exactly are you? What are you? What can you do? So you pick apart your past and make connections trying to tape wires that will make your heart beat and fill you with a strong will to thrive and change again. Instead what you find are lies. Impossible truths served from a fountain of platitudes. Every kid is smart or has potential, but how sure can that be if the ones who speak it slant their eyes? 

 

It's a callous and practiced line to try and instill faux confidence in blundering mistakes that waddle through life seemingly unopposed. Every obstacle in our future looks so small or so great because we lack perspectives. We take our time or avoid the impending mess. The times come and pass and the obstacle is no longer a way to grow and it will take too long to get back on task. Too soon do we have responsibility and little lives to nurture. A home that needs to be cleaned or a dinner to be cooked with the one you love. 

 

And the obstacle ia forgotten but remembered when we think about what could have been? And we try to turn been into be and find that we fail miserably. Ah, but the bill needs to be paid and the plumber needs to be called. Theres a storm coming perhaps you should check the windows for security and strength. Nevermind that the obstacle might have once been a goal some odd years ago and you feel like you're fifty-two when in reality you'll be twenty in a few months time. You're still struggling for independence because that is all you have ever wanted in life yet there is always a bill, even for one who doesn't own an apartment. 

 

With no restitute or hideaway you are stricken with doubt and angst. This is a different kind of angst though. The angst that comes with a heavy foreboding sensation that all is not right and might nog ever be. You are not ready to settle. You need to pick up and move this instant. Even that is hard on its own. Money flows but is redistributed and you must wait to get back what you have lost. 

 

All the while you wonder if every penny spent was a worthy investment towards your future? You'd say yes and pick apart why it is a yes and find that it may be a no. A no is fine. We all need some no in life. No gives us shame and a lesson should we be willing to open our arms to it. If you dont then surely change will never come to you but the things outaide your control will shift and gravitate away from you. You believe you are a solid immovable object in water causing it to split but you are not. You are merely a pebble that lines the sides and ground of said stream. You flow until you are stuck. Stuck is where you remain surrounded by others who are stuck. Stagnant is your life.


End file.
